Wolf
by lies-d
Summary: Sam and Dean encounter Oz during the investigation of a brutal slaying. SLASH Dean/Oz
1. Chapter 1

Wolf

By Lies D.

Supernatural/BTVS Crossover

Chapter 1

**Couple mauled by animals, found dead **

May 23rd

Paul Commisso, Staff Writer

Police are investigating the deaths of a local man (35) and woman (34) found dead in their home Saturday morning.

Neighbors had noticed that the front door of the Dalton Rd home had been left open. Upon investigation, they discovered the mangled bodies of the couple inside and called police.

Initial observation indicated that the couple might have been attacked by one or several large animals. Says Laura Bowman, one of the neighbors who discovered the pair, "There was blood everywhere. The bodies were torn apart. . .we didn't recognize who they were."

The county medical examiner made a statement indicating that the couple died Thursday night, and that the tooth marks and missing tissue from the bodies were consistent with an animal attack. He could not say what kind of animal. Expert Raymond Bruck says both the tooth marks and tracks found on the scene were "wolf-like, but bigger than any known wolf species."

Police are not ruling out human involvement, as footprints belonging to neither victim were also found on the scene.

Local park authorities are coordinating with the police in this ongoing investigation.

************

It was the last night of the full moon. The van was miles away, parked on the shoulder of a gravel road. Oz had walked across a field to be here, away from everyone and everything. He had some meditating to do, and he wanted to be alone. Surprisingly, he found that he wasn't. Two young men had arrived a few minutes ago and lingered now across a patch of field, near their car.

They were hunters. Oz had encountered a few here and there. The hunter smell reminded him of Buffy, in a way that he could never quite explain. They smelled of. . .power, and purpose, only never usually so strongly.

They never usually played their car radio so loudly, either. It was good to know that they weren't hunting at this particular moment, and that they weren't hunting him in particular. In their defense, he supposed, they probably never could have suspected him of being there.

There he was nonetheless, leaning against a tree in the moonlight. He tapped his index finger against an imaginary string to the tune of 'Another One Bites the Dust.' He watched, and waited.

********

"Another one bites the _dust_!" Dean drummed his hands against the trunk after slamming it shut. "Or hopefully, more than one with this batch." After wiping his hands against his jeans, he suddenly realized how much dirt he'd smeared on the impala. Quickly, he wiped it off with the bottom of his shirt.

Sam rose from his crouch by the side of the road, near the patch of Aconite they'd just collected. He looked out at the hilly field in front of them.

"I still say there's something weird going on. This strain of Aconite doesn't just grow this abundantly. I mean, look at the orderly way it's been growing. . .it looks like it's been _planted._"

"So?" asked Dean.

"So. . .," replied Sam, with a good answer to question, before the hairs on both of their necks started to stand up on end.

The wind had shifted. They could feel it on their bare forearms. There was something new in the air, a kind of animal musk. Their keen hunter instincts told them something was wrong, although they didn't know exactly what.

They looked up, they looked around. Dean took out the gun from his belt.

There. Across a dip in the field, on the brow of a short hill. Someone was standing beside a lone tree, watching. It looked human enough, but instincts told them both that it must be otherwise. There was just something about the way he stood, the way he. . .was. The sharpness in his eyes. Just looking at him, they knew.

_Werewolf_.

A series of gruesome murders in a town nearby had led them to believe there might be werewolves involved. It seemed they were right.

Dean's breath quickened. His mind made an automatic calculation of the distance between them. It was far enough that he could empty his gun at the creature if it charged, but if he missed, it would be just close enough to maul them before they could both get into the Impala at make tracks.

Dean stepped forward and threw his keys towards Sam. If one of them had to stay and fight the thing, it would be him. He just hoped Sam had the balls to shoot him if he was bitten.

But the wolf. . .the creature, the man-shaped thing, _whatever _it was. . .just stood there. Stock still. The breeze barely ruffled his blonde hair as he stared at them.

Sam and Dean realized at the same time where they were. Nighttime. Full moon. In the middle of a field of _very _strong Wolfsbane. It should have been impossible for that thing standing there to be a werewolf.

Should've been. The adrenaline which ran through their veins begged to differ.

It looked 'human' enough, or at least it wasn't a _wolf_ for the moment, and it wasn't charging them. Dean had no idea what to think. They stood listening to Queenuntil Sam cleared his throat.

"Hey," said Sam, lamely.

The. . .person stared at them.

"Hey," he finally replied. His features from this distance were pretty unreadable, although Dean got the impression they wouldn't be much more readable from up close.

"Are you a werewolf?" Dean asked clumsily, just to settle this whole business.

He smiled, just a little. It was hard to tell, as it didn't look like any of his features had changed much. He just looked more amused, for a second or two.

"Yes. I am."

He tilted his head up slightly. They could see the moon glint off of his eyes. Bright, animal eyes. It was true.

Dean drew in a quick breath, trying not to panic. It was hard with so much fight-or-flight in your veins, being unable to either fight or flee.

"If you're a werewolf, how can you stand all of this Wolfsbane?" asked Sam.

The wolf shrugged. "I'm used to it. It helps to be around Wolfsbane when you're trying not to transform."

"Oh. And that would be why you're not transformed. . .with the full moon out and all," commented Dean.

"That among other things. It's a little complicated, actually," replied the blonde wolf. "Are those silver bullets in that gun?"

Dean looked at the gun. He'd raised it to point at the wolf without even realizing it. He shook his head, trying to get his brain working. "Uh, yeah," he said.

"Okay. Could you. . .not shoot me please? I couldn't dodge the bullets without transforming, and I don't really want to do that."

"Well, if you don't transform, then I won't shoot, so I guess we've got ourselves a deal," said Dean flippantly.

That almost-smile played across the werewolf's features again.

"So I guess we'll just get in our car and be on our way, and you'll just. . .stay here and not transform?" suggested Sam.

"Sure. Good music, by the way."

"Glad you like it," said Dean, already backing up around towards the driver's side. Despite his word, his hand still clutched the gun so hard that he was surprised, later, when he noticed, that he hadn't accidentally fired and blown a toe off.

They jumped in and drove, their back tires digging tracks in the dirt as they sped off.

Oz was left by himself, still amused, but barely showing it.

********

The hotel they took was a fleabag, as usual, but at least there weren't bedbugs. The surly guy at the front desk took their credit card no questions asked. It was nice to know that, even if they never paid a cent on the damn things, it was the card company that would be out the money, not the people they did business with.

Dean lay awake most of the night, and it had nothing to do with the mattress springs pressing into his back. He couldn't stop thinking about the young man they saw. The werewolf, or rather, the not-wolf.

He and Sam had encountered werewolves before, while hunting with their father. They were nasty creatures - utterly fierce and violent, and he was sure that their fear of them wasn't simply amplified because of the fact that they'd been kids at the time. Dean himself had witnessed one of the werewolves tear a man's throat out. And eat it.

The one they saw on the hill, he was different. Dean truly believed that he was a werewolf, but unlike any werewolf they'd ever encountered.

Most werewolves traveled in packs, for instance. This one was alone. Calm in his solitude, even. Calm, period. That fact alone was a total shocker. Werewolves were universally aggressive, especially when threatened. Dean had pointed a _silver-loaded gun_ at him, and the guy had just. . .politely asked him not to use it. He even liked their music. Dean couldn't get over it.

Drifting in and out of sleep, Dean dreamed of moonlight, and sharp glowing eyes, and a smile that didn't show itself, that he was sure was there nonetheless.

********

The next afternoon, when they got around to the local watering hole, Dean was shocked to see their 'friend' at the bar, wiping glasses and serving beer to the early drinkers.

Sam and Dean were both too alarmed to react. Usually they grabbed a couple of coffees and went to chat up the locals. There they stood in the doorway, practically gaping, until the blonde young man looked up and met their eyes. He nodded at them, but otherwise didn't seem inclined to talk.

Sam got over the shock first. Seeing him go over to the bar and sit down, Dean followed. For Dean it was more than surprise that had frozen him. It wasn't fear, either, at this point. It was just. . .a strange tight feeling in the pit of his belly. It got easier as he got closer, although he couldn't stop himself from staring at their new acquaintance.

There was something about him that caught the eye. The way he moved, just the way he looked. Even his clothes were understatedly remarkable, for a town like this. They looked handmade, sewn from some kind of rough cotton, but close enough in cut and style that they could pass for local gear.

Sam cleared his throat. "Um. . .," he said, looking over at the chalkboard menu on the wall. "I'll take the special number two, poached."

"Yeah. . .I'll have the same," said Dean, embarrassed by the inability of either of them to come up with anything better.

The blonde said nothing even as they gave their order, only giving a brief nod before leaving to take said order to the back.

Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean. "You hate poached eggs, Dean."

Realizing this was true, Dean mentally kicked himself. Outwardly he practiced his most nonchalant shrug. "Feel like having something different."

Both of Sam's eyebrows crept upwards. **"**Okay, then."

There seemed to be some hidden meaning in Sam's words, which Dean didn't quite get. His attention was jerked away when the blonde young man arrived with their coffee. After pouring, he wiped a few spilled drops from the bar. Didn't say a word.

"Don't talk much, do you?" remarked Dean.

"So I've heard people say," replied the young man.

Dean suddenly wished this weren't the case. He liked his voice. Wanted to hear more of it, in fact. He had an impulse to make the young man talk as much as possible.

"I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam," he said, reaching over to offer a handshake. "What's your name?"

The young man looked at them both. His expression wasn't quite unreadable, but Dean imagined that he saw something resembling a smirk.

"Oz," he replied, shaking Dean's hand.

Sam smiled at him and shook his hand as well. "Nice to meet you, Oz."

********

End of Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

As they left an hour later to go to the library, Dean noticed Sam throwing him odd, sidelong looks.

"What?" asked Dean.

Sam just shook his head. "You. . .just don't seem yourself, that's all."

"Well, it's kind of a lot to take in, isn't it? A cure for lycanthropy? That's heavy. I've been scared of werewolves since I was ten."

"Yeah, and now you're. . .the opposite of scared?"

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It's none of my business Dean, really. I'm just. . .concerned that you seem to believe him so easily, that's all."

"We saw him ourselves last night."

"We saw that he could stay in human form during a full moon. _This _full moon. What about the last one? We're still investigating two gristly murders, remember?"

Dean paused to unlock the Impala. "Yeah, but do you actually believe _Oz_ could've done it? He's so. . .calm and collected."

"It seems like lycanthropy is a Jekyll and Hyde kind of thing. It's possible that the calmer the guy, the more fierce the wolf."

"Hm. Maybe. Kind of like how the quiet ones are the wildest in the sack**.**"

Sam blinked. "No comment."

********

Dean went back to the bar that night. He found an excuse to stay late – Oz worked until closing time. There wasn't much of a crowd to interfere as he thoroughly monopolized Oz's time. They talked about music, monsters, and a little about magic. Well, Dean did most of the talking. He regaled Oz with his most exciting hunting stories. He told his best jokes. When the tried and true method of asking questions to get Oz to talk about himself didn't work, he resorted to making flattering comments about his clothes and hair.

Oz kept his pretzel bowl filled, so Dean figured he must be doing something right.

It wasn't until, after his fourth beer, he was in the bathroom trying to decide which cologne to buy (_I know it drives chicks wild, but would a _guy_ like the smell of this? And would it be too strong for a werewolf?_), did he realize exactly what he was doing.

_Oh my god, I'm trying get lucky with a dude!_ _Who's a werewolf. Who's also a DUDE!!_

The realization hit him like an ice brick. Dean took a good look at himself in the mirror, noticing the telltale flush of alcohol and arousal. If he could've reached out and punched himself, he would've. He settled for splashing his face with cold water.

He'd make his excuses and leave. It was getting late anyways. Oz would

understand. He was the very soul of understanding.

Dean pictured Oz standing there, wiping a glass, listening to whatever lame-ass excuse Dean could come up with. In his eyes, a kind of amusement. Those pale green eyes that seemed to say everything his face didn't. The ones that caught the moonlight and threw it back as sharply as any blade.

Dean shook his head, trying to avert this line of thought before it traveled up and down the rest of Oz's body, contemplating the rest of his. . .contemplatables.

Too late.

_Yeah, he's a dude, and yeah, he's a werewolf, but he's smokin' hot! _

Dean looked down.

"I hope you know what you're doing, big guy," he muttered.

_Have I ever steered you wrong?_

"Well, there was that one hare-lipped girl in Des Moine."

_Hey, she was a wildcat in the sack!_

"You're right, you're right. Okay, then. You're the boss."

_Damn straight. _

Dean's upstairs brain had its swan song of the night when he decided against the cologne and spent his change on a condom instead.

********

The bar closed eventually, and Dean stayed to watch Oz wipe up. Oz had a room in a small motel nearby, and Dean offered to walk him home.

The night was cool and clear. The now-waning moon was still almost round enough to look full.

"So Dean, what are you doing in this town?" Asked Oz, initiating the conversation for the first time that night.

Dean shrugged. "Looking for a werewolf. We think. Probably not you, or at least I hope not." Dean grinned at Oz playfully. "You didn't tear two people to shreds last month, did you?" He asked, teasingly.

"No." Oz replied.

"Heh. Didn't think so."

"I've made a conscious decision not kill anyone this year." Oz continued gravely.

Dean sobered. "Oh," he replied. "Good for you."

Seeing Dean's reaction, Oz shook his head. "Sorry, I keep forgetting that my sarcastic voice sounds a lot like my non-sarcastic voice. That was supposed to be a joke, Dean."

It was the first time Oz had said his name. Dean liked hearing his name coming from Oz's lips.

"Oh! Good one. Very funny." Dean grinned.

Oz sighed. "I'm working on it. Anyways, strangely enough I think we're looking for the same wolf. The one who killed those people."

"Which wasn't you, right?"

"Right. I wasn't being sarcastic about that part."

Dean nodded. They approached the motel Oz had pointed out earlier.

"Don't mind if I ask, but why?" Dean inquired as he followed Oz around the building.

"I think he's carrying a prisoner."

"Oh. A girlfriend?" Asked Dean. "Or. . .a boyfriend."

Oz raised an eyebrow at the implication, but didn't seem offended. He shook his head. "No. Just someone. . .who might be important."

He stopped at what Dean assumed was his door.

"Good. Sure. That works for everyone then," said Dean absentmindedly.

Oz nodded as he smiled ever so slightly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. He looked at Dean, and his mouth opened to say something.

Dean didn't let him say anything. In one swift, hungry motion he had Oz backed against the door, their lips pressed together with his hands grasping his shoulder and waist.

Oz reached an arm out towards the doorknob to keep his balance. Dean pulled him even closer, pressed their bodies together as much as he could.

Dean felt feverish. Oz tasted like autumn air. His lips were soft and pliant. Bringing one hand up rest on Oz's neck, thumb stroking his jaw, Dean broke the kiss for just a little to let them both catch their breath.

He looked into Oz's eyes, expecting to see desire, lust. He didn't.

Oz brought his hands up between them and shoved Dean off hard enough to send him sprawling into the gravel over twelve feet away.

Dean coughed as he gingerly tried to lift himself. He felt like the breath had been knocked out of him, thought maybe it was just the shock. He had a bad scrape on his right elbow, pebbles embedded in both bleeding palms. Wincing, he sat up.

Oz was standing there silently, looking at him with an expression that was suddenly frightening for being so unreadable. Dean could see that he was breathing deep and hard, and it was like their first meeting all over again – like cold adrenaline had been pumped into his veins.

Finally Oz looked down. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he looked back up again Dean could see something softer there, something much less terrible.

"I've got some ointment for those scrapes, if you need it, and bandages." He said calmly.

Dean shook his head as he carefully pushed himself up to his feet, trying not to get his clothes full of blood. _Dammit__,__ if these aren't my best jeans_, he thought to himself. He tried not to think of anything else as he turned and started limping away.

"Dean, stop. Dean!"

Dean stopped, turned around to look at Oz. Tried to come up with a good apology, if that was what it turned out Oz was after.

"Look, Dean. . .did I do, or say something to make you think that I was interested in. . .anything like that?" It seemed as though Oz had used up all of his anger in the one forceful act, and now he was just genuinely puzzled and concerned.

Dean thought about it. "No. Not really. I was just. . ."

_So totally broadsided by my own stupid lust that I didn't even notice your complete lack of interest. _

Dean shrugged, shook his head. "Sorry. My mistake." He turned around again to leave.

"Wait, Dean."

Dean turned around, waited while Oz looked at him, searching for words.

"I still want to help you. With the hunt."

Dean considered this, then shrugged again. "Sure. Sam and I will be in town for a week at least. You know where to find us."

Oz seemed to accept this. "Okay."

Dean turned to leave again, and once again Oz stopped him.

"Are you sure you don't want something for those scrapes? You might bleed on your car."

Looking down at his hands, Dean smiled wryly. "Yeah, okay."

********

Dean returned to find Sam waiting up. Their eyes met briefly when Dean slunk into the room, but Dean looked away, rubbing at his palms.

"What happened?" said Sam, rising up from his slouched position on the room's only chair, noticing the bandages on Dean's hands and elbows.

Shaking his head, Dean muttered, "Nothing. Just. . nothing. A stupid mistake." He went into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Sam waited for a further explanation, but after a few minutes, he knew that there wouldn't be one. He pulled off his shirt and began making his own preparations for sleep. He was concerned for Dean – it was the same concern that kept him up waiting for his return, but Dean would talk on his own time, or not at all.

Emerging from the bathroom, Dean tossed his clothes onto a chair and climbed gingerly under his covers, turning away from Sam to face the wall.

Sam dropped into his own bed a minute later, and was nearly asleep when Dean finally spoke.

"He wants to help us investigate the murders," said Dean.

"Oz?"

"Yeah."

Sam considered this. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

Dean rolled over onto his back to look up at the ceiling. Sam noticed that their eyes hadn't met since he got back.

"Well, I do," replied Dean.

Sam opened his mouth to deliver a protest, but closed it again. "You really like him, don't you? I mean, well. . .in a more than friendly way." he finally said.

With a soft groan, Dean brought one hand up to cover his face. "Is it that obvious?"

Sam chuckled. "Only to me. Although I have to admit I was a little surprised."

"_You_ were surprised? You don't know the half of it." Dean shook his head and was quiet for a moment, contemplating something Sam could only wish he'd share. Instead, he turned to Sam with a cocky grin. "So I guess I've found a werewolf. Can we keep him?"

"Only if he doesn't shed on the Impala."

"Right."

********


End file.
